


a star in the distant sky

by starkindstrs



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 04:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkindstrs/pseuds/starkindstrs
Summary: Whatever it takes, Steve promised.(As long as you wait for me.)-In the end, you don't always get to say goodbye.





	a star in the distant sky

_I love you night and day_  
_As a star in the distant sky_  
_And I mourn for this one thing alone_  
_That to love, our lifetime was so short_  
_[So short](https://youtu.be/yTAv2WsH8C4)..._

 

* * *

 

Their reunion was somewhat an anti-climatic moment that starts and ends before he knew it.

It's like an echo of their first meeting. " _Mr. Stark." "Captain_." Except no words were uttered. Only a single nod and a faint twitch of lips before the man in the dirty black wifebeater collapsed halfway out of the barely running spaceship.

Steve ran like a horse on a whip, catching Tony as the strange blue woman staggered. For a moment his throat closed up, thinking the worst, until his finger found the pulse point of Tony's wrist and caught the irregular thrums of his blood pumping.

Next thing he knew, Tony was being whisked away for a proper medical treatment and Steve was back into the dreadfully long talks and discussions and battle plans and the absolute self-hatred and guilt of _I let Thanos win_ and now half of the universe is gone. Just another Tuesday.

Except Tony was here. Alive, weeks after everyone presumed him as gone as everyone that died in The Decimation or perhaps worse. But he was breathing. His heart was beating. And suddenly there was a tiny light at the end of the tunnel, and through the choked sobs from Rhodes or the open stream of tears from Pepper, Steve could see the resolute light back in Natasha's eyes, a fraction of relief from the tension in Bruce's shoulder, the clenched fist of determination from Clint, a twitch of a smile from Thor, a curious look from the woman who called herself Captain Marvel.

And a warm pinch of something in his own chest.

 

* * *

 

He remembered that very day when he first stepped into the Compound after all these months. "Earth just lost her best defender," he'd said out loud, and inside, _And I just lost a chance to beg on my knees and tell him everything I never got to say._

Then for the second time in his lifetime, it had begun to rain aliens, and a Titan had landed a punch on him, and then the world had turned, quite literally, into ash. Bucky. Sam. T'Challa. Wanda. One by one they had fallen into dust and Steve had fallen onto his knees next to Vision's corpse and he'd felt like a wire had clamped around his throat and he couldn't speak or yell or cry or _breathe_.

For so long he'd stayed standing as the numbers on the holoscreen rose and rose and rose and rose. But he stood. Rigid. Stoic. A captain of whatever's left of the team. Feelings pushed aside so long so he could still fight. Eyes dry but blank, mouth open but words choked, body working but tense.

When Carol Danvers--Captain Marvel--arrived and subtly took over the mission, he silently agreed and stepped aside. He was relieved, for a chance to breathe. He didn't want it, but he knew he had to, so he sat down in his old office in the Compound and began to slowly grasp at the reality around him. The real meaning of what The Decimation had been and what it had caused. The loss he'd pushed aside, the personal loss that gnawed at his every ribcage, choking at his throat. Bucky. Sam. T'Challa. Wanda. _Dust_. Vision. _Dead_. Tony... _Gone_.

But still, he didn't cry. He had a mission to finish, and half of the universe to avenge. So he clamped down his jaw, stood up, and listened to the captain.

And then the spaceship arrived, and Tony walked out half-dead in the arms of Thanos' daughter.

Now he stood, just outside the door. His enhanced hearing picked up the steady beeps of the monitor, the soft snores from the man inside. It took minutes until he braved himself and slipped inside the door.

Tony slept away, and Steve watched the warm, somewhat healthy pallor of Tony's face. Relief prodded at his skin to see the gentle rise and fall of Tony's chest. Alive, breathing, stable, no longer half dead. Slowly he stepped closer, and closer, and closer, until he felt himself falling into the plastic chair next to the bed. It took another ten minutes to gently put his warm hand on top of Tony's slack fingers.

And then it happened.

There was something burning behind Steve's eyelid as he sat and watched Tony sleep. It started out slow, but then all of a sudden, the world began to blur. Something rose up his throat and he choked out a low sob. When he closed his burning eyes, tears fell down his cheeks, and they kept falling. They fell, and he sobbed, until he felt his own shoulders shake. He couldn't hold it in, not anymore.

He cried, for minutes or hours, he couldn't be sure. It wasn't a quiet sob and tears. He was choking, and whimpering, and shuddering. Then there was a twitch in his hand and he jerked up.

Tony. Tony was watching him, red rimming his tired eyes. His eyes were hooded, exhausted, pained, with guilt and sorrow and loss and shame, so intensely Steve thought he was looking at a mirror. Tony's chin trembled as Steve shook his head and let out another sob.

He took the hand in his and brought the bruised knuckles onto his lips, coating them with tears that were still falling like a waterfall. And Tony understood, and he pulled his hand close to his chest only to pull Steve's head closer with his free hand.

Steve leaned in and let his head fall gently into the billionaire's chest, curling up like a scared child hiding away from a thunderstorm in his mother's embrace. Tony's hand cradled the back of his head and he only shook harder. The grip of their joined fingers tightened, a communication of words unspoken.

_I'm sorry._

_I'm sorry too._

_I'm so, so, so sorry._

_I know. I'm here._

_And I'm here, Tony._

 

* * *

 

When they kissed, it was chaste and warm and real.

It felt like the months--years--of loneliness fell away. Steve could remember it vividly now; the stolen looks they both had always caught the other took, the quick glances they thought the other didn't notice, the soft sighs when they would walk close, the subtle smiles they reserved only for each other. Before Siberia, Berlin, Lagos happened. Before Tony left him to train the New Avengers, before Steve told him sincerely, "I will miss you, Tony."

It was almost like yesterday that he'd spend the long nights in the kitchen in the old tower, stirring a cup of cold tea numbly after another bout of nightmares, when Tony arrived, rubbing his temples, ready to get a cup of coffee and then leaving again, only to take one look at the soldier and decide to sit down on the barstool next to him. Before everything turned to shit.

Steve now dedicated half of his days sitting in Tony's room as the other man recovered. Tony was never not working--he had a tablet in hand and FRIDAY in his earpiece, but he was explicitly prohibited from moving even an inch away from the bed until the stab wound in his abdomen completely healed. They didn't talk much, or even at all, but Tony never kicked Steve out, so he guessed that was a good thing. Instead of working, like Tony was doing, Steve just sat, and sometimes propped his arm on Tony's bed, eyes never leaving the man.

Perhaps it was too late a realization, but one night Steve watched as Tony's tired eyes flutter closed and he reached up to take the tablet away from his limp hands only to keep holding the callused hands, and then he just stopped and stared.

Steve's own heartbeat was loud in his ears. His thumb gently caressed the back of Tony's hand like a delicate silk, and he held his breath when Tony let out a quiet grunt and then a contented sigh in his sleep. Steve smiled and suddenly everything made sense, and so he leaned down to press his lips on Tony's warm forehead and turned to leave, only to be held back by a sudden tight grip on his arm.

Warm, sleepy, brown eyes stared back at him with a childlike question. What happened next was almost on autopilot--Steve slipped into the blanket and laid his head on the pillow, next to Tony.

And when he woke up, they were both still there, and Tony's big brown eyes were still on him like a scared deer waiting on his prey to make a move. But it was gone in a second, replaced by a quiet determination, and suddenly Steve received a good morning kiss on his dry lips and he smiled.

Hope started out small, like quiet good mornings and a warm hand to hold. But as Tony's wound healed, Steve began to smile again. It wasn't much, and it wasn't always there, but some knots began to loosen and Steve began to breathe easier.

They had half of the universe to avenge.

 

* * *

 

As they got closer to The Day, Steve knew their days were numbered.

They all had spent months training and planning for the day they took Thanos down. They were deliberate and careful and they weren't rushing into anything headfirst until every aspect was ready.

Tony and Steve fell into some version of normalcy in this new world: they'd wake and go on a morning run together, Steve would cook some breakfast while Tony drank some coffee and review whatever he'd worked on the night before, they'd eat together as they listened to the morning news and took a shower together and went downstairs for training, then after lunch Steve would meet with Coulson's old team and Carol and Thor and everyone else to strategize their battle plans while Tony worked with Bruce and Shuri and Lang on the Pym particles and quantum device and all the tech-sciency stuff, working on theories that Tony would later relay to Steve at night before they went to bed until Steve hummed and nodded and buried his face in Tony's neck until the older man giggled and stopped his science talk.

Then at approximately 2 AM, one of them would wake up--occasionally, even both of them--from another version of whatever twisted up nightmare their brain cooked up, and Tony would stay in the workshop until he fell asleep from exhaustion at ass o'clock in the morning, or Steve would draw on his sketchpad until his fingers bruised, and then the day repeated like a cycle.

When Steve told Tony "I love you" for the first time, the other man froze. Yet Steve still stood his ground, heart in his throat, ready in case he'd been pushing his hopes too high, in case Tony bolted and decided that maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

But then Tony slumped where he was sitting right into Steve's shoulder and automatically both of his arms curled around the smaller man. Tony nodded into Steve's chest and Steve pressed his face into Tony's hair and they held onto each other on their bed, and Steve wished they could have stayed like that and had a little more time.

 

* * *

 

The end happened on a Tuesday, less than a measly year later.

It wasn't supposed to go like this, but when had the universe ever followed their plans before?

It was short. And quick. And sudden. In a mockery of the Battle of New York with the Chitauri back in 2012, Thanos sent another army of mindless creatures to fend off The Avengers' attempts on stealing the infinity stones through time and space. It should have been easy--they'd fought alien creatures before, they could do it again. And they did.

Until Tony yelped, in the comms in his ears, and Steve could only watch while he slammed his shield clean off of the last alien's neck, as Iron Man shot up straight into the sky, and Steve was about to yell, "Iron Man!" in question when it happened.

There was a booming firework in the sky. The cloud was tinted a deep orange, and there was smoke up above, and falling debris, and then something fell next to his feet.

An Iron Man gauntlet.

 

* * *

 

It took a long time for it to finally sink in.

Steve didn't move from his-- _their_ \--bed for days. He lay, face up toward the ceiling, harsh breaths escaping his mouth, mind empty.

The space next to him on the bed was empty, and he often wondered when Tony was coming back from the workshop. Until it hit, and just as pain began to spread from his chest, numbness replaced it and he lay in silence.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

It didn't seem real. Nothing was. Tony had been there, earlier in the morning, kissing his lips warm and softly, and Steve had laid a hand on top of Tony's chest, feeling the heart beating underneath the thin shirt. They hadn't said goodbye, just a curt _suit up_ as the alarm blared, a quick quip from Tony as he blasted aliens off of Clint's back, almost like the old times.

And then he was just... gone. Right in front of his eyes. In a blink of his wide, uncomprehending eyes.

None of them knew exactly what had happened. Tony hadn't managed to report his latest status before he'd yelped in surprise and flew towards the skies and exploded half a second later. Not even FRIDAY recorded what had happened before the explosion, but she, in a subdued and thin voice, insisted that there was no malfunction whatsoever in the suit, and that whatever it was that caused the explosion was from an outside force.

It happened so quick and _meaningless_ , the aliens had already been dead and they were ready to call it a day and head home and then Tony _died_. Exploded, like a massive firework on steroids, all smoke and ash and debris and heat and fire. There was no escape, no way for Tony to have pulled one last trick and come out of it alive. Iron Man _exploded_ into tiny melted pieces of metal, and Tony Stark vanished into the skies. They didn't even have a proper body to bury, only pieces of the armor that hadn't melted away.

All of the Avengers were still in shock about what had happened. It felt like Tony's death wasn't real. A figment of a nightmare they'd eventually wake up from. The Compound was flooded with _TonyTonyTonyTonyTony_ and nothing made sense with him gone.

But Steve.

Steve was inconsolable.

But his eyes were dry, and he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as Tony's scent slowly and agonizingly disappeared from the bedsheets as days and weeks and months passed.

 

* * *

 

Life went on. Without Tony, and by extension, without Steve. The rest of the team slowly stood back up after yet another loss they had to endure, and went back to work. Without Tony... Bruce, Shuri and Lang slightly struggled, but they kept going with what they have. Without Steve, Carol exchanged a nod with Thor, spoke to Nebula and kept the rest of the team together. They all had to.

It was always at the back of Steve's mind: the battle, The Decimation, Thanos. But Steve couldn't get up. Couldn't, even if he wanted to.

And truthfully, a large part of him didn't.

 

* * *

 

After three lonely months, Steve went down into Tony's untouched workshop, found a mug on the desk half filled with the last cup of coffee Tony brewed, and broke down crying.

There was no goodbye letter. No last messages. Tony's last direct words to Steve was, "Fury would be rolling in his grave," and Steve's last direct word to Tony was, "Chatter!" Steve had nothing to hold on to except a dirty mug filled with mouldy coffee and a taste of ash and bile in his throat.

For the first time since Tony died, Steve cried and screamed and yelled and sobbed and choked until he vomited all over the floor.

_I can't do it without you, Tony. Take me with you. Take me with you. Take me. I can't do this._

 

* * *

 

Six months after Tony had exploded in the sky like a supernova, Steve shakily picked up his shield and walked into the weekly team meeting.

Everyone looked up and Steve squared his jaw.

_Whatever it takes._

 

* * *

 

Occasionally, Steve would climb up to the roof and buried himself in a mountain of blankets the way he used to do it with Tony before. Before he'd died. Before Siberia. Before Ultron.

When it got too much, when the memories of Tony got too much, when the reminders of _I failed I failed I failed I failed_ ate away at his conscience, Steve would lay down with tears on his cheeks and a burning fire in his chest.

And the last thing he thought of was, _Wait for me, Tony._ And when he fell asleep, he hoped he wouldn't wake up.

 

* * *

 

The days and nights were so long now without Tony, and his bed felt cold all the time, and Steve never really slept anymore.

He trained and fought and ran the miles blindly. He'd lost the scent of Tony from their bedroom but he'd managed to coax FRIDAY into letting him watch some of old footages of Tony, just working silently and diligently on his desk in the workshop, nodding to the loud music from the speakers.

It never got better; the pain, the anguish, the regret. But it was what fueled him up and kept him standing for as long as he could.

Every time there was a battle to fight, Steve kept hoping it would be his last. But somehow, his shield dodged that light from the alien weapon. Somehow, he'd managed to roll away from the flying spear at the very last second. Somehow, Thor would catch him unprompted when he slipped off the edge of a building as he tried to shove away at the creatures.

Steve got to live again, and again, and again, and Tony got caught in one mysterious explosion and died, and life wasn't fucking fair but Steve _held on_.

 

* * *

 

The device worked, and they took turns going through time and space to collect the stones. They finally assembled a new gauntlet, evacuated the civilians from the land of Wakanda--the agreed upon place for the final battle--and waited for Thanos' arrival.

Thor would wield the gauntlet, Steve and Bruce was on defense while Carol and Nebula were on the front lines of offense, Clint and Nat guarding their backs with Okoye leading their army of soldiers with the help of Scott, Rhodes and Rocket. Nebula fought tooth and nail to claim the killing blow, and they only agreed as long as she kept Carol tightly on her six.

The night before the flight to Wakanda, Steve had climbed on the roof of the Compound. The air was still thick with ash and dust and grief, even after all these years. Steve put a hand on his own chest and laid down.

He stared at the skies; the same vast space that took Tony away from his open hands without warning, without a word. Steve's breaths hitched, and he could feel the tears bubbling away at the corners of his eyes.

"I miss you, Tony," he whispered brokenly. "So, so, so much. Always. When I wake up, when I go to sleep. I always miss you."

The wind whispered in his ears, a soft lull, and the rest of the world slept on. Unaware of another war that was coming.

"I wish we had more time, you and me. All those years we could have had, if only I'd realized sooner that I loved you. I still do. A lot, it hurts sometimes. It never feels real, that you're gone."

Far in the distance, a star winked. Steve closed his eyes and felt warmth running down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry we didn't have more time."

 

* * *

 

_They did it._

It was long and brutal and ugly, and they'd lost Clint and Bruce, and it fucking hurt but Steve fought with all he had, smashing through Thanos' last army and he jumped back up every time he fell, thinking _TonyTonyTonyTonyTonyTony_.

Thor came through with the gauntlet. Carol held Thanos on his knees and Nebula severed his head with a mighty roar, before she collapsed into sobs on the ground. The gauntlet on Thanos' hand flashed one last time and they all ducked from the light, and Steve felt the wind whizzing past, and then Thor called for the reverse of The Decimation and snapped his fingers.

Steve was dizzy--from pain, or exhaustion--but he could feel the world shift as Thor collapsed. Carol ran towards the god and pulled the gauntlet from his hand, and yelled that he was breathing. Steve nodded and looked around, and his vision blurred as he noticed the fallen Wakandan soldiers began to appear out of thin air.

And then.

In the distance.

"Steve?"

Steve's chin trembled as he pushed himself back up and ran with what little strength he had left, clinging into the body that collided into his. " _Bucky_."

"What happened? Steve? _Steve_! Oh GOD! SOMEBODY HELP!"

"Bucky, _Bucky_ ," Steve sobbed into his best friend's shoulder as he felt himself collapse, Bucky's arms supporting his fall until he laid on the ground. Bucky's grey eyes were wide and his face was pale--still in shock from the resurrection, Steve thought--and his mouth was moving, but it was as if Steve was underwater and nothing around him made sense.

He let out a weak moan when Bucky's hand shoved into his stomach and pressed, ready to yell obscenities at him when Steve noticed the warmth and pain all over his abdomen and his whole being.

Steve looked down and. Bucky's hand was flooded with blood. Funny that, when all of Bucky's own self was intact, and-- _oh_.

Steve was bleeding. Why was he bleeding?

He felt cold hands on his face. Small, dainty, probably Natasha's, but the world had tilted on its axis and he was confused.

"Ste--stay wi... eyes! Open... wake--!"

"Don... eve! No... leave--STEVE!"

All of a sudden, the pain exploded from within him and he jerked in pain, and hands tightened all over him. Just as quick, everything dissipated--the pain, the warmth, the cold, the hands touching his face, Bucky's voice...

Steve laid on the ground, a hand over the hole in his stomach. Above him, he could see dark skies littered with blinking stars. _I could swear it was just afternoon when I closed my eyes_ , he hummed. He took a slow breath as the stars twinkled, and another breath, and another...

Blinding light seeped into vision, and Steve welcomed it.

 

* * *

 

Steve is on the rooftop of the Stark Tower, the one Tony sold all those years ago, admiring the view as the morning light bounced off of the glass windows of the buildings around him. Some time ago, Steve guesses, flowering vines climbed up the buildings, decorating the stiff, dull skyline with bursts of colors. With his enhanced hearing, he can hear the birds chirping among the busy traffic, flying past the looming trees by the streets.

As he stands with a small smile on his face, he feels a flutter on the back of his hand, and he looks down to see a butterfly landing on his skin, wings clapping gently. When he tries to bring his hand closer to his face, the butterfly flies away, leaving a tingle on his finger. He laughs, and then.

There is warmth on his other hand, slipping in-between his fingers. Steve's eyes trail along the lines of the veins in the back of the slightly tanned hand that's holding his, his thumb gently caressing the skin.

When Steve looks up, Tony's smiling face stares back at him.

"Took your time to get here, sweetheart."

"You wouldn't have wanted me to arrive too soon, anyway," Steve replies, and his chest tingles with warmth as Tony lets out a melodious laughter.

"That's true. I would have waited anyway, even if you took fifty more years."

Steve squeezes Tony's hand, and a tear slips down his face. Tony's gentle hand reaches up and wipes it away.

"I'm here, Steve."

He smiles. "I know."

 

* * *

_High above, the arch of heaven bends_  
_And light so clear is falling_  
_Like a flowering tree, the world is blooming_  
_Overwhelmed, my heart both cries and laughs_  
  
_A long road to heaven's shining meadow_  
_And never could I reach its end_  
  
_But a longer road leads to your heart_  
_A longer road leads to your heart, my love_  
_Which to me seems distant as a star_  
_A long road..._

**Author's Note:**

> the title and poem (in italics) are from Pauline Barda's poem Tāls ceļš, translated into English as "Long Road" by Elaine Singley Lloyd. Eriks Esenvalds did a choir composition of it and it is beautiful.
> 
> i suggest listening to the song, you can find it on youtube or spotify as ["Long Road - Eriks Esenvalds"](https://youtu.be/yTAv2WsH8C4). it is a truly moving piece and it brought me to tears over and over again.


End file.
